I watched my grandmother weave She’d sit on the concrete Her henna covered soles Pressing down on the plaited laÂÂÂÂÂkha reeds Smooth beneath her foot
I watched her weave her story With patience, precision the wit of a woman Her fingers tangled in the loose ends Leading them in and out of each other
I would try to keep up She would whisper in my mother tongue, ghes beli - don’t rush Then share with me wisdom from our history She, illiterate Only had her memories And what her own hands could conceive
I watched her weave ÂÂÂÂ Tales of contentment and longing defeat and glory Seeped into the braided reeds
I watched her weave ÂÂÂÂ With absolute conviction That my own roots were captured in these interwoven contradictions
- meshrefet by manal younus














